


Deconstructing Larry

by Magentaxx3



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Break Up, Realistic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:27:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24232075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magentaxx3/pseuds/Magentaxx3
Summary: Five years after the break-up of 1D, a struggling journalist decides to kick start her career by landing an interview with all the boys.All the boys are obliging, except for two...Then, seeing the opportunity for some closure on their shared past, they reluctantly agree.What follows is an evening of harsh truths, life changing decisions and lethal vodka cocktails.
Relationships: Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 30
Kudos: 92





	Deconstructing Larry

“So, I've been dating this fella for 6 months…”

“Can I stop you there?”

"Why? What is it?" I can feel the intensity of my sister’s glare through the phone.

"Nothing,I just had to stop you." I move the phone away from my ear to avoid the inevitable tut and deep sigh.

“You're so fucking funny, can't you be serious for a minute?” she retorts, annoyed.

“Listen, you broke up with your last boyfriend with a text.”

“And?”

“Well, he did live with you at the time.”

A spike of pain surges through my foot, causing me to lose my balance and drop my phone. I scowl, as my sister's disembodied voice fumes from the pavement.

Snatching up my phone, I chirp, "Listen, I'm here, gotta go, love you." cutting my sister off mid rant.

Before I knock the door, I glance again at my feet, expecting to actually see them throb. I toy with the notion of removing my shoes, being barefoot might evoke sympathy from my subject, portraying a quirkiness he could find appealing. What's the worst that could happen? He says no and I go back to, “Sassy Singles”, continuing my downward trajectory of churning out articles like "Hiding your Arms, Hiding your Anger: Dating over 30."

Rejecting the idea, I take a deep breath, making a mental note to despair my life choices at a later date.

“Hey.” There standing in the doorway is Louis Tomlinson. Black trackie bottoms, white t-shirt, trainers and his infamous mop of chestnut hair.

“Mr. Tomlinson, thank you for seeing me, I know you’re very busy.”

“Listen, I'm actually on me way out”, he smiles, disorienting me for a second.

“Mr Tomlinson, I understand that, but -”

“Maybe, you could leave something with Oli.” He gestures towards the open door behind him as he descends the steps.

“Mr. Tomlinson, I already have. Please just one minute.“ l persist, following him.

“You’re that girl who keeps ringing my office, ain't ya?” he throws over his shoulder as he scans the street.

“Yes, I’m doing an article on One Direction”

He briefly glances at me and shakes his head.“Sorry, I’m so busy at the moment, I just don’t...” He moves towards the curb, checking his phone.

“I won’t take up too much of your time, I promise.” I interject, trying to contain my despondency.

“Mr Tomlinson, you’re the last one.”

Louis stops suddenly and I collide with his back. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Last one?” he asks, grabbing my wrist, his grip tightening.

I stare at his hand, then at him, confused. Our eyes meet and he looks away, releasing me with a quiet, “Sorry!”

“It’s ok,” I mutter, rubbing my wrist, perplexed by such an extreme reaction.

Louis puts his hands into his pockets and sways slightly onto his toes, biting his lip; when he is not smiling he looks older, weary.

“I was hoping to interview all of you. Even Zayn agreed.”

Louis frowns for a moment, then his smile returns. “Fancy a cuppa?”

“Sure. Thank you”, I beam. Finally.

A car pulls up. “You go ahead there” Louis says, nodding towards the house. “I just need to take care of something first.”

Once again, I ascend the steps, I mentally high five myself, no idea what I did to change his mind.  
Grinning sheepishly, I squeeze past Oli on the doorstep. On entering the house, I'm overwhelmed by a thick odour of paint and turpentine. The nauseating concoction drags my attention to a room on the left. The door is slightly open and through the gap, in the low light, I see a large rectangular shape draped in a sheet. The intense blend of metals, chemicals and curiosity lures me towards the door. Letting go of my bag, I slowly reach out to push-

"Just walk on through, the kitchen is out the back." Louis' sudden appearance, startles me. “Fuck me!”, I squeal.

Louis steps back, his hands up in surrender as I instinctively adopt a self defense pose. “I’m afraid I have to respectfully decline, darling!” Louis laughs.

I manage a smile while inwardly cringing. “Sorry, I...You…”

Louis tilts his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Wow, you certainly know how to handle yourself”

“Well, I did do a piece on women’s self defense, ‘Bellow, Balls and Bolt,’ I state with unintended pride.

Louis is tight lipped as he tries to suppress his laughter. He fails.

“Yeah, not one of my best, I have to admit, but a girl needs her shoes.” I look down and Louis follows my eyes.

“Indeed.” Louis sniggers, “They’re killing you, right?”

“Yep.” I reply, finally admitting defeat.

“Take them off.”

I immediately obey, momentarily forgetting my surroundings. The relief washes over me and I allow myself a low groan of pleasure.

“Better?” Louis grins.

“Infinitely. You can keep those.”

“I don’t think I have anything to go with them.” He says considering the neglected instruments of torture abandoned at my newly liberated feet.

“Burn them”. I say bitterly.

Louis laughs as he places his hand gently on my elbow steering me towards the kitchen. “You know I think it's great you did an article on self defense. I’ve sisters who I'm always trying to talk into taking classes. You can never be too careful.”

*****

“So,what’s your angle?” Louis asks, gesturing to a chair at the kitchen table.

"Well. I'm thinking of doing a history of the band, talk about how it was formed, the use of social media, birth of "Stan Twitter". You know, One Direction changed everything, there will never be another One Direction regardless of Simon Cowell's efforts."

Louis smiles as he leans against the counter, "Did you hear he was trying to put together a virtual reality band? Pure fucking nonsense, what?"

"Ridiculous", I agree. "One Direction was a phenomenon. A cultural reset."

This must have triggered a memory; Louis appears distracted, his eyes unfocused. I have a moment to study him,undetected; he is taller than I expected, slim, yet muscular, his clothes hang well on him. Only a few grey hairs defy the youthfulness that radiates from him, indicating a man in his late twenties.

“Yeah, I have interviewed quite a few bands who are fans.” I continue. “ Also, I've tracked down some fans who were around from the very beginning. You do know the fandom continues to thrive, even 5 years on since you last performed.”

Shaking his head slightly, Louis squints at me, “Like who?”

"You know your fans by name?"

"Some." He chuckles. "But I meant bands, which bands did you talk too?"

“Here, you can have a look.” I open my bag and rummage around, removing half the contents, as I search for my folder. Louis scans my belongings with interest: they include a tin opener, a calculator, a dog leash, a plug and the remote to a long forgotten DVD player. I blush and a sound, supposedly a laugh, springs from my lips. “I really need to clean out my bag,” I mutter.

His eyes twinkle, his smile widening, bemused by the motley collection of objects on his kitchen table. Finally, I locate the file and pull out the list. I hand it to Louis who sets down the dog leash he is examining.

“What do you call your dog?” he asks, scanning the page.

“I don't have a dog.” I state simply.

He shakes his head, “You’re certainly an interesting person, no doubt”. He chuckles as he leans against the counter to read my notes.

With Louis distracted, I take the opportunity to look around. The fridge is a myriad of drawings and photos, the former have the names, “Doris” and “Ernie” proudly printed in the corners. One picture catches my eye, that of a dark haired man in a bright yellow suit with a purple scarf. Somewhere in my mind a memory flickers, but does not manifest into anything tangible. I lean forward, squinting, trying to decipher the identity of this oddly familiar person.

Suddenly, my vision is obstructed by my own notes. “I love these lads! They're really fans of 1D?” Louis asks, pointing excitedly at the page.

“Yeah. Huge fans!” I confirm, taking another look at the mysterious photo.

“That’s fucking amazing.” Louis beams, blocking my view.

“Yeah,” I absentmindedly repeat, resisting the urge to shove Louis Tomlinson out of the way, so I can study the photos on his fridge.

“Right.” Louis places the pages on the table. “Let's get you that cuppa you was promised.”

He lifts the kettle and gently shakes it to determine its contents, “So you've been chatting with the other lads then? How are they?”

“The other boys are great,” I answer, tearing my eyes away from the fridge to focus on him.

With his back to me, he moves towards the sink to fill the kettle.

“So, you’ve spoken to Harold...to Harry?” He asks this so low, I almost don’t hear it. I notice that he has frozen mid movement awaiting my response.

“No" I murmur, still distracted by the enigmatic photo.

His head snaps in my direction, “You said I was the last one.”

Panic!

“I have...we have agreed to meet...we just haven't yet.” I lie.

I hear the click of the kettle lid and Louis continues with his task.

“Harry is...was very hard to get hold of; I think...he has moved out of London, to hmm...Europe I  
believe” I scramble to regain my focus, annoyed I had allowed myself to become distracted.

“Somewhere in northern Italy.” Louis mumbles, switching on the kettle.

“Sorry?”

“He lives in Lombardy,” He states matter of factly, opening a cupboard and removing two cups.

“Italy?...Yes I mean, yes Italy...that’s in Europe, right?” I could punch myself in the face.

“Yeah ,it is” His eyes find the window, and he is lost once again to his own thoughts.

“It’s a beautiful part of the world,” I say to lure him back into the conversation.

“Beautiful,” he echoes, his face obscured by the sunlight.

“Beautiful,” I agree, watching him intently as he stands, frozen, gazing out the window, clutching two cups.

Then, his face adopts a hard expression and, when he speaks, his tone is sharp, almost aggressive. “But you can’t beat the chaotic pace of the city, can ya...be in the thick of things... who wants to be stuck out in the country... cut off from...from life?...Harry just...”

He shakes his head, and looks directly at me. “Suppose you want to know what happened?” His eyes daring me to ask.

“My article is mainly about the band’s influence and impact. Obviously it will touch on how it all ended, but-”

“It just did.” He lowers his eyes for a second and then makes eye contact again.“That’s all.” He shrugs and sets the two cups down on the counter. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Milk please, no sugar.”

He brings the cups to the table and sits down. “So, what do you need from us?”

“Well, a brief history, what you think of the current music scene, maybe a little bit about what happened next ..... Oh, and photos, if that’s ok?”

Silence. He holds his cup with both hands and takes a long drink.

The silence deepens, threatening to suffocate me. I resist the urge to touch his arm to remind  
him that I am still here.

Finally, Louis sets his cup down and looks directly at me, his eyes dark, his stare intense, resolute. “If you get Harry....I’ll do it.”

Shit!

“Ok, that’s great.” I force a smile, to convince him this won’t be a problem. I overdo it, causing my jaw to ache.

“I want to be interviewed with Harry,” he adds, taking another sip of his tea.

Fuck! I think as I widen my smile and nod. Now, not only do my feet hurt, but my jaw does too.

*****

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I want to reach down the phone and drag them back.

I balance the phone between my shoulder and ear, blatantly ignoring all the advice from my “Tips for Good Posture” article. I rub my abused feet, considering how this could backfire in spectacular fashion leaving my article and reputation in ruins.

“I will mention that to Mr Styles and get back to you,” the faceless voice drones.

How many times had I heard that reply? 16. How many ignored emails? 18. How many phone messages? 28.

My heart sinks. It was all I had left. Louis wasn’t forthcoming with any help. When I rang him, all he was interested in was whether I had spoken to Harry. The last time we spoke all I managed was “No but...” and he hung up.

I was losing him. I needed to do something drastic; that is how I found myself saying, “Mr Tomlinson has personally requested that Mr Styles does an interview with him.” It was only sort of a lie, right?

*****

I am standing in line at the bank when my phone rings.

Number withheld.

“Hello?”

“Hello...umm....this is...umm Harry umm Styles.”

My knees give way and my stomach flips; I stumble into the lady in front of me.

“Sorry...I...”

The phone slips from my hand and I knock heads with the guy behind me as we both bend down to  
retrieve it.

“Sorry.” I touch the man’s arm and manage a weak smile.

“Sorry?” the voice queries from the phone.

“Sorry,Mr Styles.I....sorry....oh.” I splutter.

For damage limitation, I leave the line and go outside. My heart thumping, my hands shaking.  
OK, keep it together. Harry Styles is notoriously guarded...shit I wasn’t expecting this...fuck fuck  
fuck.....ok ok...breathe...FUCK!

“Hello...are you there?”

“Sorry, Mr Styles. Thank you for returning my call.” I say, trying to regroup.

“You’re writing an article on One Direction?”

“Yes, it’s a piece exploring the cultural impact...” My muscle memory flexes and I instinctively launch into my pitch.

“Yes, I read your emails and listened to all of your messages.”

His tone is playful, so I start to relax.“OK, so I was hoping we could meet up. When would...”

“You were speaking to Lou, to Louis?,” he interrupts me.

“Yes, I was.”

Silence.

“Mr Styles?”

“How is he?”

“Good...he’s great.”

Silence.

“Mr Styles, I hope...” I start chewing a nail, suddenly anxious.

“Is he still painting?”

Painting? Louis Tomlinson paints?

“I don’t know.”, an image of a covered frame flashes before me. The smell of turps.

“He requested that we do the interview together?”

“Yes he did!” I inwardly cringe.

Silence.

My heart stops, closing my eyes I remind myself to breathe. “Mr Styles?”

More silence. Oh no.

“Mr Styles?...Hello?”

“Harry.” the phone responds.

“What?”

“Please call me Harry.”

*****

I dial Louis’ number. Voicemail.

“Louis? Harry has agreed to do the interview, does Friday suit you, please let me know.”

*****

Bang bang bang!

What?

Bang!

What the fuck? Is that my front door or my neighbour’s front door?

The Muppets Theme Tune.

My phone. Who? Where is it? Ah, there you are.

“Hello?”

“Don’t you answer your door?”

“Who is this?”

“It’s me.”

“Louis?”

“Please answer your door...it's fucking freezing.”

I grope my way to the window and sure enough, Louis Tomlinson is standing on my doorstep.

“Ok. I’ll be right down”

I grab a sweater abandoned on my floor. I struggle into it as I make my way down the stairs. Opening the door, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes fills my nostrils, forcing me back a step. Despite the strong smell of drink, Louis appears steady on his feet.

“Hey....what time is it?” I squint at him, and then out into the street expecting to see a car, but not finding one.

“No idea; no watch,” he responds, waving his wrist at me as if I required proof.

“Come in,” I say with an exaggerated arm gesture, beckoning him inside.

He bows dramatically in response, but catches his foot on my mat and stumbles into the hallway. Maybe he’s not as steady as I thought.

Settling down on the couch, Louis runs his fingers through his hair, pulling it all directions. He smiles and I realise he is using my TV screen as a mirror.

“Anything to drink?” he asks as he takes a last look at his reflection.

“What do you want? Tea, coffee?”

“Anything stronger?”

“Beer, wine....think I have some vodka,” I muse, glancing towards the kitchen as if the answer was somehow in the doorway.

“Vodka it is,” he announces with a defiant air punch.

In the kitchen, I locate the bottle of vodka, pour his drink, adding some Red Bull.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” Louis' voice follows me from the living room.

“Go ahead.” I reply glancing at the clock, half past two. What is he doing here?

I hand him the drink and set a small dish on the armrest for him to use as an ashtray.

“Thanks, love,” he smiles, as I take a seat opposite him.

He scans the room as he takes a mouthful of drink, avoiding my gaze.He sets his glass down on the nearby table, “Nice place....I like the…thing you’ve done...” He vaguely gestures to his right..

I nod my head and squeeze out a weak smile in response. In the half-light, his face is mesmerising, the shifting shadows contorting and softening his angular features.

He lights his cigarette, inhales deeply and holds it in for a few seconds before exhaling, the smoke briefly obscuring his face. “Would you believe I'd quit these fuckers for a whole year?” he says holding the cigarette up and shaking his head.

It is obvious he is stalling. I watch him intently, frantically searching for something, anything to say.

“Suppose you’re wondering why I’m here?” he mutters, his free hand picking at a small hole in the upholstery of the armrest.

“It did cross my mind?” Hearing the obvious irritation in my tone, I smile.

“So Haz..” He pauses. “Harry. He agreed to this?” His finger jabs the armrest, as if Harry had input in the décor of my living room.

“Yes he has...”

“How'd you manage that?” He stares through his fringe, his voice thick with suspicion.

“I...well, I can be quite charming.” I wink at him, hoping to dispel the tension and instantly regret it.

He laughs and takes another drag of his cigarette. He exhales and through the smoke mutters, “I just can’t believe...after everything…he...”

He stops and leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his voice low, almost a whisper,“Did you see him?”

“No, I’ve just spoken to him on the phone”

“Ah.” Finishing his cigarette, he stubs it out in the dish. Now with two free hands, he starts fidgeting and tucks his hands under his thighs, moving his feet about and nodding along to music only he can hear.

We lapse into an uncomfortable silence. I watch Louis finish his drink and avoid eye contact, when inspiration strikes.

“He asked if you were still painting,” I blurt out and, for some reason, snapped my fingers for emphasis.

He freezes, startled by my sudden outburst, then his face softens. “Did he? What did you say?”

“Well...that I didn’t know...I don’t know.” I shrug.

“I am,” he says quietly, leaning back into the couch.

“Oh that’s great.I didn't know you painted. Any plans to exhibit or...?”

“NO!”

The abruptness of his response startles me. I knock over the plant sitting on the table beside me.  
Louis just glances at the overturned plant and closes his eyes.

“Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

“No worries.I’ll just brush this up.” I’m secretly glad for the opportunity to escape to the kitchen.

“How did he sound?”

I look over my shoulder and Louis is standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Sound? Ok I suppose,” I say opening the cupboard under the sink.

“It was always hard to tell,he wasn't...” He trails off as he looks down, adjusting a silver ring on his left hand.

Is he going to be able to fully complete a sentence? What's with the ring?Did he wear rings? I never noticed that before.

“Louis, what is this all about?” I’m tired and I wish he would just get to the point. If he was going to pull out of the interview, let’s just get it over with.

“Loss and regret,” he says, resting his head against the doorframe.

Ok, a bit melodramatic. My natural reaction is to roll my eyes, which I try to fight but lose. I quickly turn my head away, grabbing the dustpan and brush.

"I saw that, darling," he laughs, forced and heavy.

I smile and shrug, brush in one hand, pan in the other.

Louis grins and waves his hand at me. He catches me looking at the ring and puts his hand in the pocket of his jacket.

Biting my lip, I ask “Are you having second thoughts about the article, Louis?”

My heart is trying to claw its way up my throat. With an intense effort I hold his gaze.

He looks away, “No,” he sighs, tracing his finger along the doorframe.

My heart resumes its former position.

He walks over towards the table and sits down.

“Why are you here, Louis?”

He looks nervous,on edge, as he stares blankly at the pan and brush in my hand, making no attempt to answer.

“I’ll just be a minute.” I walk into the living room, and brush up the scattered soil and repot the plant.  
Noticing Louis’ empty glass, I bring it back into the kitchen with me.

He is sitting with his head in his hands, but he looks up as I walk in. “Do you want another drink?” I ask.

He nods.

“Think I’ll join ya,” I announce grabbing another glass and pouring the vodka.

“I miss him.”

I freeze and glance over at him. “Who? Harry? Louis, you were friends, it’s only natural.” I struggle to keep my voice casual.

Taking the seat next to him, I place his drink in front of him.

“I miss him so much.” He speaks so low I have to lean forward to hear him. His blue eyes are wide and glistening. Tears? Please don’t cry. What do I do if he cries?

I place my hand on his arm. “You should ring him. He probably misses you too.”

Looking up at me, his face brightens momentarily, but then he shakes his head.

What happened between them? I wonder, as I stroke his arm. “You will see him on Friday!” I offer, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.

He frowns. “If he turns up.”

“He will. On some level he must want to see you, otherwise he wouldn’t have agreed to do this!”

He places a hand over mine. “I can’t believe he has agreed to this.”

“Well, he has and when I was speaking to him I got the impression he missed you too.”

“Really? What did he say?” His gaze fixes mine, pleading, almost desperate.

“It’s not what he said…” I start, instantly regretting such a statement.

He shakes his head slightly, disappointed and makes a move to get up. Quick! Think!

“Painting!” My sudden outburst grabs his attention. “Sure, he asked if you still painted.” I try to regain my composure as he turns his gaze back to me.

“He liked to watch me paint,” he says, settling back in his chair.

I nod and pat his arm.

“He’d just lie there watching me, for hours without talking. No pressure to be interesting or amusing. It was...” Louis pauses, his eyes are glazed, his voice is low.

“A relief?” I offer.

“Contentment.”

I squeeze his arm again and we share a smile.

“They found it strange that we spent so much time together. They would question it....make comments.”

“Ahh! They! They talk a lot, don’t they!”

He tries to smile, but a tear escapes and he turns his head away.

“You were friends! That’s what friends do,” I soothe, leaning closer to him.

“You know there was talk that we were lovers?” he states bluntly.

The atmosphere in the kitchen has shifted.

“Yeah, but surely you encouraged that.” I reply, careful to keep my voice relaxed “All the touching and the fonding over each other.What do you call it, fan service, no?” I muster a laugh that sounds hollow and forced.

“Have you ever googled “Fonding"?" He asks, blindsiding me.

“Sorry?”

“Nevermind” he dismisses, taking a drink.

“Louis, what…”

“Do you think he will turn up?” he asks simply, interrupting me.

The question takes me by surprise, that the ability to speak escapes me for a second. A second too long as Louis becomes agitated.

“Yes, I do,” I answer, but it's too late.

He is biting his lip and making a fist with his hand. “What exactly did he say?”

“He said he would be here at 7.”

“That's it?” Louis' eyes widen.

“Well yeah. We only spoke briefly to arrange the interview. I wasn’t going to start bombarding him with questions, you know what he’s like. He does have a reputation for being difficult; you know, guarded.”

“I guess you’re right. I don’t think he ever fully answered a question in his life.”

“Great...can’t wait till Friday!” I try to laugh again, but it gets lost in my throat.

He nips my arm. “Yeah, he wasn't always like that, in the early days of the band, he was more free and less aware of consequences.” He frowns at this thought.

“I can imagine.”

“Can you?” He snaps.

I take a drink avoiding his eyes, unsettled at the turn the evening is taking.

Louis sighs deeply and tries to catch my eye. “Sorry."

I shrug and finish my drink.

“He could be a bit awkward, but... unbelievably sweet.” He continues, swirling the remainder of his drink in his glass.

“Yeah?”

“He would give me a hard time about all the crap I eat and then once in a while I would find a Pic ‘n’  
Mix in my bag or under my pillow.”

He takes another drink, finishing it.

“Do you want another?”

He nods. I get up to fix our drinks, but decide to just bring the bottle to the table. "I've no Red Bull left." I say walking to the fridge and peering in, " I've Ribena or prune juice."

"It's gonna have to be Ribena, love."

“Ribena and Vodka, classy.”

We both take a drink at the same time. It is surprisingly refreshing.

“Not bad.” Louis acknowledges.

“Yeah, it’s surprisingly refreshing.” I remark turning the glass over in my hand.

“That it is. What should we call it? Ribka? Vobena?” Louis ponders as his elbow slips and half the contents of the glass splash onto the table. Louis Tomlinson is drunk.

“So, Friday…” I venture, realising time is now a factor.

All of a sudden he laughs.“You know what else he used to do?”

“What?”

“When he left me messages on my voicemail, he'd always say his name.” Louis smiles and then in a very low dreamy voice adds, “Like I wouldn’t know it was him.”

I swallow. He is now staring towards the counter, eyes aimless; distractly moving his finger through the puddle of alcohol. He continues to talk, in the same low hazy tone.

“I saved all these messages. Just so I could always hear his voice, when I needed too.” I watch his finger making shapes in the split drink. He is writing a word. Harry.

He takes a phone out of his pocket and stares at it. “This was my old mobile. I’ve his saved messages on here....you know me, can’t be seen using an out of date phone”

I smile; his weak attempt at self deprecating humour has failed to dispel the sense of despair that has now filled the kitchen.

He starts to play about with the phone, flicking through the menu.

“You were in love?” It escapes me before I could engage my brain. A realisation rather than a question.

Finally, the subject that has been lurking in the periphery of our conversations has been dragged to the forefront. The words float in the air between us.

He looks straight at me, his eyes sad, but unflinching. “I am in love with him. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that!”

“I…”

“You’re a journalist, for fuck sake, and let’s face it this has to be one of the worst kept secrets ever.”

“No, I guess…”

“Please don’t do that; lie to me.”

“Ok, listen, I’ll be honest, I had heard the rumours.”

“It doesn't matter anyhow. I need to see him. I need to ask him. I just need to see him.”

Biting back the followup questions that flood my mind. I ask, “Are you worried he won’t show up?”

"Yes,” he nods and then adds, “And that he will turn up."

"Louis, don't you think-" I start.

"Everything is true." Louis states, almost aggressively.

"Oh."

"I was expecting more of a reaction." He seems disappointed.

"Listen Louis, I'm going to be real."

"Real is rare." He remarks wryly.

"I did know you were in a relationship with Harry, just didn't know you had split up." Staring into my glass, unable to look directly at him.

"Is this the real reason for the article?"

"No. I didnt even think that was an option, obviously if it came up...but I know you’re all tied up with contracts and I've heard stories about what happened to people who tried to..you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"What is your plan for Friday?" I ask, carefully.

"Don't worry, you’ll get your interview. I promise we’ll be professional."

"That’s not what I meant."

"I've no idea. I'll know when I see him." Louis' voice cracks and I instinctively reach out. I watch a single tear fall onto the table between us.

"Sorry." Louis whispers.

Suddenly Louis pulls away, leans back in his chair and defiantly drags his hand across his mouth and clears his throat. Avoiding my concerned eyes, he blinks away the gathered tears, grabs his drink and drains it.

"Do you want..Listen I know you don't know me and I'm a journalist but...if you want to talk. Obviously, off the record."

Louis stares into his empty glass, "I don't like to talk about things that hurt,” he murmurs and then shrugs, “Yet, that's all I want to talk about"

“Talking helps.”

“So I believe, but does it actually change anything?”

“Sometimes.” I lean forward, my hand outstretched, which he ignores as he turns the empty glass over in his hands, distracted.

“We did so much talking, we talked about everything. How we felt, our future. We made all these plans. Foolish to think we had any say in our own futures. Talk was all we had. At least when we talked we could dream, pretend, hope. In reality all our talk meant nothing.”

“That’s the industry. It's so controlling, you not only sell your image, but your soul.”

“Yeah, that is true.” He agrees sadly, setting his glass on the table.

“If you could go back, would you do it differently?”

“No.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” I can’t conceal my surprise.

“I wouldn't take the chance, in case it meant not being with him.”

“But you’ve been treated horribly. The things…”

“So you do know more about us than you were letting on?” he observes me, his eyebrow arched.

“I'm a journalist, I hear things.”

Just then Louis' phone beeps.

“Do you need to get that?”

“It's no-one. It's a Google alert.”

“Fuck me, you don’t have a Google Alert for yourself, do ya?” The Ribka was making me sloppy.

“No. Not me.”

Then it occurs to me. “Sorry, I think I'm getting a bit drunk.”

Louis nods in confirmation. “Kinda pathetic, right?”

“No. I actually have Google alerts for both you and Harry.”

“So you're obsessively in love with both of us, then? Should I be worried?” he tries to laugh.

“Nah, It's because of the article.”

“I was joking, love.” Louis says, amused. “Do you have it for the other lads?”

“No. Just you two.”

“Just us? Why?” He narrows his eyes, suspicious.

“I don’t know. I genuinely never realised till just now, is that weird?”

“Yes it is.”

“Listen, I know how-”

“Stop! Save it! I don’t care if you have an ulterior motive at this stage. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve met anyone in the last ten years who didnt have a fucking agenda.I don’t even get mad anymore, I just accept that people use you. This is the reason the world is so fucked up because things are being loved and people are being used.”

*****

Friday.

I scan my living room. Ok it will have to do. Ashtray? Louis will want to smoke. I go into the kitchen and find a dish that will make an adequate ashtray. I run through a checklist in my head; Camera, phone, notes.

I look at my watch - 6.05pm.

After Louis had left the other night, I lay awake for hours going over what had taken place. The potential for disaster was high-

The doorbell.

Who is that?

Muttering to myself, I walk to the front door ready to chase whoever it is away.

I open the door and I am confronted by a broad back clad in a black woollen coat.

The person removes his hat and turns to face me; Harry Styles.

My first impression is how tall he is, he towers over my 5’ 3” frame. I was waiting till the last moment to slip into my boots.

As I look up to his face, I am taken aback by how handsome he is. His rugged, unshaven face  
is topped off by a headful of unruly curls. He smiles and I feel my stomach flip and I become so disorientated that, when he offers his hand, I force out my hand so vigorously that I catch him sharply between his stomach and crotch.

“Shit...I am so sorry!”

“This is the first time we have met, yet it’s at least the fifth time you’ve apologised to me.”

I laugh a little too eagerly and then blush....get it together girl. “Won’t you come in?” I stand aside and let him pass by into the hall. I close my eyes briefly, take a deep breath and then follow him, closing the door.

“Louis isn’t here yet.” I inform him.

“Really? You don’t say. Wow, that’s not like him!” He raises an eyebrow at me, his eyes twinkling.

“Well to be fair we did arrange to meet at 7, not that it’s not ok that you’ve arrived early,” I add  
quickly, only to be met once again with a raised eyebrow and an amused grin.

“7...so on Louis time that is 9,10ish. I’m afraid you are stuck with just me....till...” the  
smile momentarily leaves his face, but is quickly reinstated as he claps together his hands and says  
“Ok; let’s get started”

It dawns on me that he wants to get the interview over before Louis arrives. Shit! I have to stall him. Louis will just walk out if he arrives and he has left. I have come this far, I have to keep him here.

“Grab a seat,would you like something to drink? Beer, I have red wine?”

“Wine would be wonderful. Thank you!”

“Here, let me take your coat.”

He hands me his coat and I bring it into the kitchen, returning with his wine.

I sit down on the armchair opposite him and it occurs to me that we are in the same positions Louis and I were in the other night. I watch him take a drink of his wine, taking in his surroundings.

I start to fiddle with my phone, setting up the recording app. In desperation to delay the interview, I attempt small talk.

“So how have you been Mr Styles?”

“Harry! Please. I’m, I’m good...I...” He looks down at his glass, “Good.”

Okay.

“So, what have you been up to? I believe you are now mainly writing, are you currently working on anything?”

“Right now, I’m working on a book of poetry.”

“Oh? Does it have a title?”

“It changes every day; I haven’t settled on one yet.”

“What are the poems about?”

“Loss and regret, mainly, it -”

The doorbell stops Harry short. He stares in the direction of the sound.

The doorbell rings again.

It’s Louis and he’s early. The realisation occurs to both of us simultaneously. I glance at Harry, he looks startled and tense.

I go to the door, open it and as expected Louis is standing there.

He smiles and leans forward to give me a kiss on the cheek. As he walks by me, I grab his arm. He looks back at me and nods his head.

Leaning against the back of the door, I watch him disappear into the living room, relief washing over me.

Finally, all the pieces were coming together.

In the living room, I find Louis alone. Where? I look around. My confusion must be obvious on my face, as Louis sits forward, perching on the edge of the couch.“What’s wrong?”

“Harry...he was sitting right here.”

Louis looks like I have slapped him. He is on his feet. “What? He must have heard me and gone out of the back.I fucking knew it. I knew he wouldn’t face me!” He pulls his hands through his hair. He looks devastated

“Lou.”

We both turn to find Harry standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“I was just looking for the toilet,” he explains.

The two men just stare at each other. Harry breaks the silence. “I see you still have the jacket.”

Louis looks down at himself, delicately strokes the arm of his denim jacket, his cheeks flush. “I see you’re still championing the grandad look.”

Harry smiles and shakes his head slightly. “Bringing it back, sir.”

At the same moment they move towards each other. Within touching distance Harry places his hand on Louis’s shoulder. Louis looks like he is going to move closer, but Harry’s arm tenses, turning it from a gesture of greeting into a barrier.

Louis catches my gaze briefly and I see it, the pain. I feel the back of my throat contract. How can bear to witness this self-inflicted torture?

Harry glances in my direction and then back at Louis. “You’re looking well, Louis.”

Louis rolls his eyes and gives an overly dramatic shrug, in a desperate bid to dispel the tangible  
tension.

Harry removes his hand from Louis’s shoulder and smiles. Louis looks over at me and raises his  
eyebrows. He is relieved. The hardest part is over.

*****  
“Remember that hotel manager in France during the “Take Me Home” tour? The one who...” Louis begins to laugh, leaning against Harry placing his hand on his arm.

In the last two hours, Harry and Louis have recounted their memories of the band and, as a result of the combination of alcohol and nostalgia, the earlier tension has completely disappeared.

They started the interview at opposite ends of the couch, yet slowly they had gravitated towards  
each other.

Funny; I never noticed as it was happening, I just all of a sudden realised that Harry’s knee was now resting on Louis thigh. They seem happy. Maybe this was all they needed.

“Do you remember that singer who sold a story a fling she supposedly had with you? What was her name again?” Louis asks Harry, topping up his glass with wine.

“Sunshine something...she had that tattoo saying “Relevant”, it was all faded”

“How appropriate.” Louis laughs.

"God, didn't she pose nude for Nuts magazine?" Harry snorts.

"Probably. She did turn up on Love island. I remember her full name was "Former squeeze of singer Harry Styles"."

Harry grimaces, "Ohhhh don't. Really?"

"Bitch claimed she was holed up with you at a hotel in New York for a whole weekend. When in reality we were in Jamaica."

Harry smiles. "Ohhh Jamaica. I haven't been since…" He stops, glances at me and takes a drink.They both share the inability to fully complete sentences.

"We should go back, baby." Louis says leaning back into the couch and closing his eyes.

Harry and I lock eyes. He fidgets, changing his sitting position, rubs his hand down his thigh. He finds the hole in the upholstery on the armrest and appears fascinated by it.

"The last time we were there, we had that amazing candlelit dinner at The Caves?" Louis continues.

Harry sits forward suddenly, "Shouldn't we get back to the article?" His tone is irritated. He glances over at me, shifting once again, creating distance between himself and Louis.

"What was The Caves like?" I ask, enjoying Harry's discomfort. Louis' tear soaked face from the other night has haunted me and I knew it was because of this man. I suppress my laughter, when Louis casually brushes Harry’s thigh with his hand. The other man flinches as if the hand were electrofied.

"Magical" Louis beams, unaware of Harry’s uneasiness. "Remember, Harold?The table was covered in flower petals, candles and the sound of the sea. It's built into the side of a volcano. There was this fabulous coral staircase. Such a cool place. What was the name of the bar, baby?"

"Blackwell Rum Bar." Harry mumbles.

"Best cocktails, even better than your vodka and Ribena concoction from the other night ." Louis says gesturing towards me with his glass.

Harry stops mid drink. "You've met before, you've been drinking together?" he splutters.

Louis ignores him, “Get your ass to Jamaica, love.” he says to me.

"Sounds so romantic, an amazing place for couples to relax, you know to get away from things, private and secluded." My eyes never leave Harry’s.

Harry chokes on his drink and in a flurry of limbs, knocks over the same plant as I did the other night. He is on his feet, his shirt and jeans covered in wine.

I smirk to myself, satisfied.

Louis laughs. “My God, Harry! You’re only here five minutes and you’ve already wrecked the place, he’s so clumsy” He winks at me and we laugh.

Harry glaring at Louis, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand."‘What is this?’

“What?”

“Oh c’mon. What is the point of this?’ Harry swings his arms gesturing to the entire room.

“It’s for the article i’m writing, you know that.” My tone is condescending, but I don’t care.

“Listen sweetheart I did a bit of research on you. You work for a magazine called ‘Sassy Sally's’.”

“ ‘Singles’ “ I correct him, calmly finishing my drink.

“What?”

I stand up. “It’s called, ‘Sassy Singles.’ ”

“What the fuck does it matter?”

“It matters!” I snap with unwarranted force and a regrettable hip cock that could be mistaken for pride.

“Ok, doubt it has a large readership of One Direction fans!” His face contorted with revulsion, practically spits out the words.

“It’s actually a freelance piece.” I mumble, but he ignores me and turns to Louis.

“And you!" He jabs a finger at him. "I see you’ve been spilling your guts to a journalist, then”

“Harry, wise up. It’s not like that!”

“What’s it like then?” Harry shouts, spreading his arms out in frustration.

“Ok, calm it! Sit the fuck down!.”

“What’s he been telling you?” he asks me.

Before I can respond, Louis says " Calm it Harry. Why do you always overreact? It’s always the same with you."

Harry looks at me, "You getting all this?"

"What the fuck is your problem?" I snap.

"Harry, baby." Louis stands between us.

Harry ignores him with a wave of his hand, his eyes never leaving mine. “Really? So this isn’t going to be splashed all over some torrid little rag is it? "

Turning to Louis. "I knew you had sold out, but this tabloid trash?”

That was it. “Where the fuck do you get off. I’m a serious-”

"What have you told her?” Harry cuts me off. “She's a hack, are you fucking stupid?"

"What can she do?"

“Is this even a legitimate interview? Why do I feel like I've been tricked into something here?"

"Tricked?" Louis repeats incredulously.

"Yeah. Listen if this is some elaborate ruse to get me to-"

"Elaborate ruse?" Louis mocks, "Check this bitch out." Louis rolls his eyes, “Elaborate ruse”, he repeats adopting a clipped posh accent.

“Fuck you, Lou.”

“Oh c’mon Harry, you’ve always been far too sensitive. Sit down, have another drink.”

“Maybe I'm not too sensitive, maybe you’re just a dickhead.”

Louis takes a deep breath. It's obvious he is fighting his natural response to retaliate with an insult of equal or elevated vitriol.

“Please sit down, we need to talk.” He says, reaching out to touch Harry’s chest, at which he flinches and takes a step back avoiding any contact.

"I’m not interested in anything you have to say, I’m going!”

“No”

“What?” Harry leans forward, as if he has misheard.

“Stay, please.”

“Fuck this!” Harry turns away, as Louis grabs his arm.

His face flush, he violently extracts his arm from Louis' grip and walks towards the doorway.

Somehow Louis manages to get to the doorway first and spreads out his arms blocking the exit. “You’re not walking out on me again.”

Harry’s eyes dark, his voice low and dripping with menace. “Oh! Danger, little one! I suggest you get out of my way.”

I could see Louis silently screaming, suffocating with each breath he took holding onto his pride. “We need to talk about what happened”

“I’m reaching a whole new level of not giving a fuck and it’s honestly inspiring.”

“Please stay.” Louis places his hands on Harry’s waist.

Harry leans forward, his mouth close to Louis' ear, whispers, “Make me.. Say something sweet, tender and untrue and make me stay. For old times’ sake.”

“Harry, please.” Louis attempts to pull him closer.

“GET OFF ME!” Harry shoves Louis against the wall in the hall. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk to you.”

He releases Louis, who slumps to the floor, defeated.

The front door slams.

I am instantly at Louis' side and scooping his limp body into a sitting position. He falls into my body, his weight causes me to lose my balance and we lie on the floor.

Gripping the front of my shirt he buries his head in my neck.

“Are you ok?” I whisper, my hand cradling his head.

“Yes”

“Are you sure?”

“No”

I could feel his heart breaking as he clung to me.

*****

“He forgot his coat.” I remark, returning from the kitchen with drinks.

It has been an hour since Harry left. Louis hasn’t spoken much until 10 minutes ago.

He crouches down beside my chair. His blue eyes, slightly swollen and bloodshot. “Where is it?”

“What?”

“His coat?”

“It’s in the kitchen.”

“Get it? Will you? Please.”

“Why?” I don’t like the sound of this. “You’re not going to mess up his coat?!”

Louis sighs and places his chin on the armrest. “Please!”

I get up and walk into the kitchen with Louis directly behind me. Opening the cupboard, I remove the coat.

He stares at it and then at me, expectedly, as if waiting on permission to touch it. I thrust it into his hands.

I watch as he gently caresses his face with the cloth and then submerges his face, inhaling it. Have I made a mistake? Made things worse? Before I get a chance to retrieve the coat, Louis is walking towards the living room, slipping his arms into it. Looking like a child dressing up in his father’s clothes.

Sitting down on the couch, he swaddles himself in the oversized garment. “His smell...” His Curls . He closes his eyes and pulls the collar of the coat closer to his face.

“Louis?”

“Yeah?”

“What happ...” I pause, distracted by a small notebook Louis now has in his hands. He must have found it in the coat.

“Ahhh! Louis, don’t go through his pockets....that’s a bit shit.” I start to hiccup. It’s the Ribka. “Louis, I will, hic, take the coat, hic, off you!”

Louis is not listening; mesmerised by his find.

“Louis? hic” I kick him and he looks up. “C’mon! hic Stop that! hic dick move”

Dismissing me, he returns his attention to the book.

My hiccups are getting worse; I pull myself up and go into the kitchen to get a glass of water. I stumble slightly and knock the plant, but despite my alcohol intake my reflexes are quick and I manage to steady it before it falls.

When I return, he is flicking through the notebook. I shake my head and fall back into my chair.

“He always carried a notebook.” he muses.

“Oh?” I’m starting to feel nauseous. Bloody Ribka!

“Just in case inspiration struck, you know. But he just ended up using it as a place to write lists and phone numbers. The odd joke”

“Mmmm.” I close my eyes.

“I see things haven’t changed. I always...”

His silence prompts me to open my eyes. He is holding a square piece of card....I blink...it is a Polaroid picture. His face has drained of colour and is motionless. “What is it?”

No answer.

“Louis?”

“Oh, Hazza, baby,” he smiles, his eyes shining.

I take a seat beside him on the couch. The Polaroid is of him and Harry, in what looks like a pub, Harry is sitting behind him with his chin resting on his shoulder and his hand on his arm, their heads together, both are smiling.

Louis is now stroking the photo. I touch his arm and he puts his head on my shoulder.

“Oh Louis.”

“We were so happy. Look!”

“I can see that.”

“Look at that smile, those eyes, those curls. I’m suddenly painfully aware that I’m not over him.”

“It will get easier...I promise.”

“Sometimes I wish I’d never met him, then I could get on with my life unaware he’s out there.” He turns to look at me. His eyes swollen with unshed tears. “My biggest fear was that one day we’d run into each other and have one of those horrible artificial conversations, as if we never were anything to each other.”

“Louis, what happened?”

He settles back on the couch and returns his gaze to the photo.“It wasn’t just one thing." he strokes the picture with his thumb. "One day I will find the words and they will be simple.”

“‘Hearts will never be practical, until they are made unbreakable’ a great man once said’”

‘I like that, who said it’

“Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs.”

“Who the fuck is that?”

“The wonderful Wizard of Oz” I sing song.

Louis laughs. “That boyo! That’s some fucking name.”

“It’s pretty impressive.” I agree, “But a tad ostentatious, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, flashy git!”

We laugh and I finally think we have turned a corner when Louis' attention returns to the polaroid. “I miss him, his smell, his voice, his wandering hands with their simple needs.”

“I know you do, but you don’t know what has happened in the last year, he could be with someone else, he could be happy!”

“No, he-.”

“You know that for sure?”

“No, but I feel it...here.” He points to his heart.

I turn to face him, exasperated..“Louis, you might have to accept that Harry has moved on.”

“No. Look!” He waves the photo in my face.

I get up off the couch.“You’re hopeless!”

He grabs my hand and looks up at me.“I’m not without hope.”

“Louis, you could be setting yourself up for more heartbreak.” I kneel down in front of him and place my hand on his cheek. “Sometimes there is no going back. Maybe it’s best to just let him go.”

He starts to say something, but I press on. “Yes, he has kept your picture. Yes, there could be a chance you could get back together, but you have to see that there is also the possibility that you won’t. Look, I know moving on is hard-”

“Pretending to move on is harder.” He interrupts me. “He’s all I've ever known.”

We stare at each other, his sorrowful eyes piercing my heart. “You may have to accept that it’s over, Louis.”

“I’ll die if I accept that; hope is the only thing keeping me going.”

“Think of it this way, you’re, “One heartbreak closer to your happily ever after.” ”

“The Wizard again?”

“Yeah, but not the one from Oz, this bitch hails from Waverly Place.” I re-arrange myself into a cross legged position on the floor in front of Louis.

“You’re certainly an interesting person, you know that.”

“Thank you, kind sir.” I give him a salute and wink.

“You’re welcome.” Louis tips an imaginary hat. “Now, If you don’t have anymore wizard wisdom, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Louis leans forward, perching on the edge of the couch. “When do you know it’s over?”

“I guess when you’re more in love with the memories than the person. It’s just knowing the difference.”

“But this“ he indicates the Polaroid,“must mean something, right?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” I reply, “Harry has shown tonight he is not ready to talk about what happened, whatever it was.” I pause, hoping he would take the prompt, but Louis is transfixed with the picture. Oblivious.

On impulse, I snatch the photo from his hand, “You know what? Fuck love!”

“No! Fuck whoever made you feel like that.” Louis retorts, attempting to retrieve the photo.

“This is unhealthy.” I say shaking the photo at him.“You need to take a few moments to just appreciate yourself. Look how far you’ve come. Look at how hard you’ve been fighting. Look at how strong you’ve been.”

“To what end? I'm still in the closet and balls deep in lies. The man I love has just walked out on me, again.” He collapses back into the couch.

“Yet you remain so positive and kind. No-one could blame you if you’d become hardened, bitter and spiteful.” I squeeze his knee.

“I'm kind because I know how cruel feels,” He murmurs, closing his eyes. “Why are we conditioned to believe cruelty and love are somehow connected? It’s amazing what we will put up with because we don’t want to lose someone.”

“Some people would rather be miserable than alone.”

“Yet, despite everything, we were never miserable. Yes it was hard, painful even. But as long as we had each other we could shut everything out, retreat to our own world.”

“You fell hard didn’t you?”

Louis reaches for the photo and I let him take it. “I knew the first moment we touched. It was just an innocent touch to my arm to get my attention and he has had my attention ever since.”

I lean forward, placing my hands and chin on Louis' knee.

“I firmly believe our souls have always been in love.” he whispers, delicately tracing Harry’s jawline in the photo.

“Love at first sight?” I ask, though it was more of an observation.

“Absolutely. I didn't stand a chance.” He smiles, then adds, "Not that I put up much resistance."

“From what I heard, you guys didn’t hang around. Rumour has it one of you proposed when you were still on the X Factor.”

"Yeah," He can't contain the smile or the blush that claims his cheeks. "Once you meet the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

I gently nip his leg. Charmed by such a statement.

"We had plans." Louis continues, his voice taking on a pensive tone. "I thought if we explained everything to the Label, they would understand, embrace it.”

Louis shakes his head. “I actually thought they would be delighted as it gave the band an edge, you know, something they could exploit for promo.”

“Oh Louis.” I close my eyes and bring my head down onto my hands. Imagining a young Louis confronting the Label with his thoughts.

“I was such an idiot. I always had to push back, resist, regardless of the situation. I thought the Label would eventually give in. It just made everything worse.” His shoulders dropped in resignation, his eyes glossy.

“I tried to protect Harry, but his popularity made it impossible to keep him from being stunted out. I'd put myself forward for every PR tactic they came up with, but my role was the homegrown lad in a long term relationship. Harry was the womaniser." Louis drains his drink.

I replenish our drinks and sit in the chair opposite Louis.

"It fucking ridiculous, what they made you do." I say, picking up where he had left off. "It's actually abusive. I appreciate that there are some people who enter into these stunts willingly. But your situation definitely was an abuse of power."

"Yeah, I know. In a fucked up way, the stunts proved to be beneficial to us." Louis looks at me over his glass, awaiting the look of surprise, that I dutifully deliver.

"We were ultimately powerless. Except when we were on a pap walk or on live TV."

"Ahh, I see." The penny dropping.

"If we promised to stick to the script and not cause a fuss, we would get something in return. Some alone time, a short getaway."

Louis picks at the hole in the armrest, his voice a monotonous drone. "Like dogs being given a treat for not pissing on the carpet."

"But they just got out of hand and became more toxic.” He continues, “Harry really struggled. He’s such a gentle soul…so...” A low intense sob escaped him, his breath erratic, as if the air was too thick to swallow.

He forcibly clears his throat, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “If I loved him less, I might be able to talk about it more.”

“It’s ok Louis, you don’t need-.”

“No, I need to do this, I need to tell someone.”

*****

There is a knock on the door.

I know exactly who it is. Who else could it be?

“I’ve come for my coat!”

I stand aside, allowing him to enter.

“Where’s Lou?” Harry asks, scanning the living room.

“Bed.”

“Upstairs?”

“Yes.” I glance up at the ceiling. So I guess he is staying the night then.

“Where’s my coat?”

I just glare at him, unresponsive.

He lingers for a moment, then marches into the kitchen, mumbling something under his breath. I follow him.

Once in the kitchen, he scans the room. “Where is it?”

“It’s upstairs.” I say watching him intently as he realises who is now in possession of his coat.

“Sorry about...” he gestures towards the living room.

Louis’s tear-soaked face flashes before me. I frown.

Reading my mind, Harry states “He'll be fine.”

“You think so!” I didn’t intend for it to be so abrupt, but don’t regret it.

His eyes widen, at my outburst. “He just gets a bit emotional when he drinks.”

Our eyes meet and he immediately looks away.

“You’ve hurt him, Harry.”

“I’ve hurt him?” His voice; even, emotionless. “The thing with Lou is, when you have his attention, it’s like the sun shines on you, and it’s glorious. But then he forgets you and it becomes very very cold.”

“Harry...”

“You know, all this shit may have broken my…” he pauses and shakes his head. “But it opened my eyes, I’ll take that as a win”

“He misses you.”

He drops his head, rubs his temple. “Does he now?”

“Yeah. but you already know that, don’t you?”

“Do I?”

“Fucks sake!” I clench my fists in frustration, “Can’t you see he’s in pain?”

He sighs, “Pain makes you stronger, apparently.”

“You’re a real piece of shit!” Shocked at his blatant indifference.

“What would you know?” He narrows his eyes. Suddenly defensive.

“I know enough.”

“Oh yeah? Really! Which version? The womanising bullshit, the destroyer of One Direction bullshit or the reclusive enigmatic rock star bullshit! Huh?”

“The abandonment of the man you supposedly love bullshit.”

Harry emits a scornful laugh. “I love listening to lies when I know the truth”

“They do say betrayal is rarely at the hands of your enemies.”

“Betrayal. Really?”

“You’re such an asshole, you know that! Louis fought for you, supported you, sacrificed so much for you and you just left, didn’t even have the balls to tell him why. Only cowards hide behind silence.”

He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “Why do you assume the person who left, wanted to leave?”

“So you had no choice? You were forced to go? Or was it some selfless heroic act for the greater good?”

Harry shrugs. “Be wrong about me, darling. I've nothing to prove.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“What else is there to say?”

“That you’re sorry. That you miss him.” When Harry tries to interject, I raise my hand and press on, “I think you do, otherwise you wouldn't be here. You had no intention of doing my interview until I mentioned Louis”

He looks down at his feet. “I think it’s important to realise you can miss someone but not want them back.”

“That doesn't explain why you came.”

”I had to see him and remind myself why I left!”

“You left because you couldn't handle the thought Louis had interests and goals that didn’t revolve around you. You saw him as a lap dog who should follow you around, stroking your ego, seeing to your needs. You didn’t love him, you just loved how he loved you.”

“Louis thinks I didn't love him?”

I ignore him, the anger within me, stirring, “After everything Louis sacrificed, you just ride off into the sunset with the Azoffs, leaving Louis alone in stunt hell.”

Harry takes a step towards me, “Louis thinks I never loved him? Louis told you that?”

“Well, he told me enough, it’s obvious that…” I move away from him, his face has become dark and intense.

“Oh! It's obvious, is it? Well, I guess that’s that sorted. You have half the story and just assume you know it all. Typical journalist, filling in the gaps with bullshit. Fuck this, I’m going.” Harry makes a movement towards the living room.

“Just go. Go back to your world of Gucci, pap walks, pretentious twats and horny fans with their recipes for cum cake” I wince, knowing I had gone too far.

Suddenly, Harry brings his fist down on the kitchen table with such force,the fruit bowl becomes airborne, scattering it's contents in all directions. “DO YOU NOT THINK IF I COULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING I WOULD HAVE?”

“You’re Harry fucking Styles. Are you seriously telling me you have no influence? Bollocks!”

“Influence? Are you kidding me? Are you really that naive?” Harry’s face flushed with anger.

I cross my arms and glare at him.

Harry suddenly looks weary. “Sorry. I'll just go."

"Look, stay for awhile.” His sad face mollifying my anger.

I bend down and pick up an apple. “Go ahead and take a seat. I'll get us some drinks.”

Harry obediently retreats into the living room without saying another word.

*****  
“It’s actually quite refreshing.” Harry remarks, swirling the Ribka in his glass.

“It certainly is,” I agree, “So easy to drink. Which is dangerous.”

He nods in agreement, studying the liquid in his glass.

“Do you really believe I would just walk out on Louis because I resented him having a career?” he asks, he eyes still on his glass.

“I think you resented not being the sole focus of his attention. Anyway, he was no longer required, was he?” I stop, waiting for Harry's reaction.

“What do you mean?”

“You had the Azoffs, you didn’t need Louis anymore to protect you. The mighty Azoffs now had that gig. You upgraded. If anything, Louis was a liability, especially with all his stunt baggage.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

I lean forward, “Between you and me, the Azoffs never had any intention of taking Louis, isn’t that right? You just told him that to keep him sweet. So he wouldn't interfere with your plans.”

“Where are you getting this crap? No way Louis told you this.”

“Louis wanted to make a difference. He had plans to start speaking out for all the victims of the industry. Have you any idea how powerful you two could have been? But you chased the money and the fame.”

Harry shakes his head and sighs heavily. “That’s not how it was.”

“So, Louis didn’t fight for you. He didn’t take on the brunt of the stunts trying to protect you. He didn’t resist the Label every step of the way, resulting them fucking up his life and reputation. They didn't hold him back so you could flourish? He was a threat, therefore a target.”

“Wow,” Harry almost smirks, “I do prefer the uniformed to the misinformed.”

"You arrogant son of a bitch." I snap.

“Look,” Harry sets his glass down and leans forward, his hands clasped. “We thought if we just stayed united and strong, it would all work out in the end. We just had to be patient.” Harry looks directly at me, his eyes moist, “What you don’t realise about patience is, it’s not passive. It requires concentrated strength”

Leaning back into the couch, Harry pulls his hands through his hair. “The music industry is a cruel and toxic cesspool, where psychopaths and con-men rule. The good don’t survive. They are devoured or corrupted.That was a lesson I learnt too late.” Harry lifts his glass and takes a long drink, draining it.

We sit in silence for a moment. Then noticing his empty glass, I go to the kitchen to replenish our drinks.

Returning from the kitchen with a large jug of Ribka, I refresh Harry’s glass and take a seat beside him on the couch. "You and Louis had each other, and with the support of the Azoffs you could have been so powerful. You could have changed the industry, been pioneers.”

“He who fights monsters should be wary they don’t become one.”

“What are you trying to say?” I ask.

“That power attracts the corruptible, honey. Be wary of all who seek it.”

“So, It was the Azoffs who did this? I fucking knew it!”

“No, love.” Harry looks directly at me.

I maintain eye contact, momentarily confused then the realisation smacks me in the face.

“No way. You’re lying.” I say, narrowing my eyes.

“Louis got distracted and lost himself. He was so focused on destroying Simon, he became obsessed with it. He was determined to start his own Label, said we would change the industry from within.” Harry takes a drink and shrugs. “What did Nietzsche say “If you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”

“I don’t believe it. Louis?” I’m shocked and confused. “Louis fought so hard. He was notorious for it. We always thought it would just be a matter of time before the whole thing imploded.”

“His priorities shifted,” Harry states simply, ”Once he got a taste.”

“Bollocks! So he had ambition and goals. What’s wrong with that?” I refuse to believe Louis would mislead me, but then again he hadn’t really told me anything I hadn't already known.

“Absolutely nothing. Just depends on what you are willing to sacrifice to achieve them.”

“All he wanted to do was to make you proud. For some reason he felt like he had to prove his worth to you. That he was your equal. When in reality, it should have been you, proving your worth to him”

“You think me an asshole and Louis some selfless martyr, do you?”

“I think you’re a fraud. That catchphrase of yours, nothing but a bullshit gimmick. You’re an egotistical narcissist who manipulates people with his charm. It’s not going to work on me. I see you.” I point at him with my glass.

“These versions of me, you and everyone else have created are not my responsibility.You really think you're the first person to say that? Fuck me, I’ve spent the last 10 years surrounded by people informing me of my own interests, under the guise I had an opinion, that I had choices. Turns out, I’m just a character in my own life, darling, I’ve to follow the script like everyone else.”

Harry slumps back into the couch, his eyes dull and empty. Shame engulfs me as I realise that most of what I believed was based on my own assumptions.

“Maybe I am a narcissist.” his voice soft, fragile, “The truth is I wish I had the courage to be a no-one”

Stunned and saddened by such a display of honesty, I struggle to assemble the adequate words to respond.

“Everyone you meet always asks you about your career,” Harry continues, “What car you drive, how many homes you own, how many units you've shifted, how fast your tour sold out, but they never ask you if you’re happy.”

He looks at me, his resentment smoldering, “That's because you’re nothing to them! You’re just the sum of your clickbait stats, your fuckability and profitability. They’ve more of an emotional connection with their bath mat than you! You’re not a person, you’re a commodity, a human billboard. The number one rule is, “Always be fuckable”, whether you’re on stage or standing in line for milk. They tell you who you are and that is who you become, until they decide you are no longer viable, then you are replaced. In this industry, it’s fuck your competition, fuck your friends and fuck you. Life is not like a fairytale. Everyone lies. Everyone has an agenda. Good guys lose and love does not conquer all.”

Harry stops and I follow his gaze.

Louis is standing in the doorway.

“I thought you were in bed.” Harry says.

Louis is wearing the coat, the photo in his hand. “You kept the picture.”

Harry shrugs. “I forgot it was in there.”

“Look!” He turns the photo around to face him. Harry looks away.

He thrusts the photo closer to his face. “Look!”

Harry glances at it. “And what?”

“We were so happy!”

“It’s just a picture, Louis”

“Just like it’s just a boat, just a compass, just a dagger, just a rose?”

Harry looks down and distractly rubs his arm.

“You came back.” Louis states.

“For my coat, my notebook.”

“You came back for this!” He waves the photo at him.

Louis takes a seat in the armchair opposite him, pulling the coat around him. He delicately rests the photo on the arm of the chair as he reaches into the folds of the oversized coat and takes out a packet of cigarettes. Removing one, he places it between his lips and extracts his lighter. Harry, who is discreetly watching him, shifts suddenly in his chair and the two men exchange a look. Louis removes the cigarette and replaces it in the packet.

A thick tangible silence fills the room, each of us waiting for someone to speak.

Noticing Louis didn’t have a drink, I see an opportunity to break the impasse. “I'll get you a glass, Louis.”

“Thank you.”

Walking to the kitchen, I hear Harry say, “What have you been saying Louis?”

“What do you mean?”

When I return, Harry is visibly agitated. “I think it’s time we get all this out in the open. There’s obviously some confusion over what actually happened.”

Louis is unresponsive as he takes a long drink.

Leaning forward, Harry starts, “Ok, 2015, 2017 and 2019….what do these years have in common?”

Louis faces reddens as he shifts in his chair. “Please, Harry.”

“Three times we were supposed to come out.”

“Please, don’t…”

“No, you had your chance. It’s my turn now.”

“So, the year is 2015. Everything was in place. The bears, remember them, were in full swing and we were counting down to the main event. Fuck sake, we had even started planning our wedding. Remember that poor sod who saw us at the cake shop. I really regret what happened there...but I digress.” He gestures to the room with his glass.

“Anyway, Simon announces that if Louis wanted to make an album, we had to push back the coming out and extend the stunts. I was angry and disappointed, but I understood. Then in 2017 for reasons, that are not completely clear to me you resign with Simon. You told me it was part of a plan to get out of this mess sooner and that it meant you could come on tour with me. I trusted you. So OK. But 2018.”

Harry takes a breath and looks directly at Louis, who is staring into his glass. “You promised me if you did the X factor, we could finally come out shortly afterwards. That it was a “quid pro quo” situation. Help revitalize the show and they would start phasing out the stunts before the end of the run. We would be out by the summer. Then, I'm told by Oli that Eleanor’s contract had been extended. Fucking Oli, Louis!”

Louis clenches his jaw, his lips a tight colourless line.

“It was then,” Harry continues, empathising the words by jabbing his finger on the armrest, “I realised two things; this was not going to end and that it was you Louis.” He jabs a finger at him. “You kept us in the closet. You stole time from us. You stole time from me. I used to think maybe I was asking too much. It was then I realised I was just asking the wrong person.”

He pauses, waiting for a response from Louis. He does not receive one. Exasperated, he slumps back into the couch, and thumps the armrest.“When you love someone you want to scream it from the rooftops.....you would whisper it under the duvet cover.”

“It wasn’t as simple as that...it had to be handled a certain way.”

“Bullshit! You were ambitious. You thought you could build your empire and keep our relationship in the shadows, your dirty little secret” Harry sighs. “The worst kept secret, it would seem.”

“There were too many lies to unravel. There was no way the Label was going to allow the full truth to come out. They were prepared to destroy not only us but our families, before they allowed that to happen. Our narrative had to evolve into the truth. It would take time.”

“Isn’t that where Matt Singer was supposed to step in?” Harry asks, his voice flat and emotionless.

“Holy fuck, Matt Singer?” I gasp.

Both men look at me, startled. They must have forgotten I was there.

“I still think that was the best option. Just blow the whole fucking thing wide open. Expose the lot of them.” Harry states emphatically.

“You know, that could have worked.” I agree,”If you just exposed the truth, got the media and public on your side. There is no way the Label would pursue a "breach of contract" court case without implicating themselves further. They would have no option but to go into damage control mode and find a scapegoat. Matt Singer would definitely be the man for the job. He’s a piece of shit, but he would be your piece of shit.”

“Exactly!” Harry exclaims, gesturing at me with his hands, whilst looking at Louis.

“If it was that simple, don’t you think I would’ve went ahead with it?”

“Jeff says…”

“Oh yes Jeff. What does he say?.” His voice thick with sarcasm.

“What is your problem with Jeff?”

“He took…It used to…” Louis mutters, fingering his cigarette packet.

“For fuck sake Louis. Just say it!”

He is unresponsive as he flicks open the cigarette packet and closes it again.

Harry, with obvious effort, tries to contain his irritation. “Jeff..., they say you came to some sort of agreement with Simon. That he would take you under his wing or some shit. What did Simon offer you Louis?”

Clearly unsettled, Louis, with persistent effort remains impassive.

Harry leans forward and taps the armrest of Louis' chair, "I hope it was worth it.”

Evading Harry’s glare, Louis whispers,“It wasn’t that...”

“What was it then?”

“OK!" Louis closes his eyes and exhales deeply, "I wanted to make something of myself. Is that so wrong? I wanted you to be proud of me. Fuck, I wanted to be proud of myself.”

“I was,” Harry leans forward, “I am proud of you Lou. How can you even think that?”

“You say that. But you weren’t. Your words didn’t match your actions. I saw you around people you admired.”

“What are you saying? I mistreated you?,” his face twisted in confusion.

“I didn’t want to be known, just as,‘Harry Styles’ husband,” he murmurs.

“Louis, don’t be ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous? Are you fucking kidding me? I actually got introduced as “Harry’s husband” a few times at those fucking parties Jeff made you go too. I wasn’t even worthy of having my own name.”

“Wait! Sorry! Hang on, back the fuck up. You’re married?” I interject, shocked.

“Yeah, we are.” Harry confirms.

“You didn’t know that?” Louis asks in disbelief, flashing his ring at me. “Are you sure journalism is the best career choice for you, darling?”

Tight lipped, trying to suppress his laughter, Harry takes a drink. Then says, his tone reflective, , “I would dream of the day I could refer to you as my husband, hold your hand in public. I would get so jealous seeing other couples post these little insights into their lives. Lives in which they don’t have to pretend. Just be free. So many who take these freedoms for granted dream of fame. We have fame and dream of these freedoms. Is that irony?”

Louis looks down into his drink, somber. "Can you remember who you were before you were told who you should be?

“He’s still in here and I know that beautiful boy I fell for is still inside you. We owe it to them. Remember that promise we made in that tiny bunk on the tour bus? That no matter how hard it got, as long as we wanted to be together, we would fight to be together.”

“We’re not together now…” Louis trails off.

The two men stare at each other.

“Those damn eyes of blue, really fucked me forever.” Harry almost snarls.

Louis looks broken, incapable of a response.

“Do you ever think about where we would be now, if the 2015 plan had gone ahead?”

Louis remains silent and bows his head.

“I do! All the fucking time. You could say I’m obsessed with it.”

“Harry, please…” He brings his hand to his forehead, pain etched on his face.

“We probably would have had kids by now. Actual kids, not pretend ones.” Harry takes a long drink, letting the spiteful statement land.

“Fuck you, Harry. You sanctimonious asshole.”

“Sanctimonious? Oh, my! We have extended our vocabulary!” Harry snorts.

“See that? That, right there.” He points at Harry. “Making fun of me, you and that smug fucker Alistair.”

“Alistair?” Harry's eyes widen in disbelief.

“Yeah, your in-side jokes, your self-righteous comments. The endless pretentious waffle about music, books and shit.”

“Books and shit?” Harry rolls his eyes.

“Fuck you Harry.”

“This is so typical of you! What has Alistair got to do with any of this?”

“Plenty!”

“Really? You're really grasping at straws now Louis.”

“Alistair made it very clear I was a nuisance, an inconvenience!”

Harry shakes his head, as Louis continues, “He would belittle, ridicule me and you would fucking let him. Made me feel like a right dickhead."

“Is that so?

Louis drags his hands through his hair, "For fuck sake, it was me who introduced you to art and yet I’m the one your friends would look down on. They assumed my media image was the real me, or maybe they didn’t care enough to find out. I guess in this game your public persona is more important than who you really are. You think I don't know what they say about me.”

Harry presses his lips tight, draining them of colour, and rubs the back of his neck. When he speaks; the harshness has left his voice.“Well at least I tried to involve you,better than being ignored.I’d reach out to you but you wouldn’t be there...I’d end up clutching at air.”

"The Label was trying to drive a wedge between us, making me stunt at those clubs. You know that. Alistair saw the opportunity and just snuck in.” He makes a sharp outward motion with his hand.

Harry straightens up. “Alistair was just a friend.”

“When Alistair was about, you ignored me. You would go to all those exhibitions together. I remember watching you being interviewed. You just repeated everything I had told you about the artist and his work. Verbatim. It’s me who has spent years researching and learning the craft, but it’s you out there being hailed as some sort of aesthete, a connoisseur. While I’m considered some uncultured drug addled dickhead.”

“Louis, do you not think I would have loved to have shared those experiences with you. I thought you would have appreciated me sharing your thoughts with the artist. I thought you-”

“You thought. You thought. How could you not know. Every night there was barely an inch between our bodies. Yet you never asked. You stopped talking to me, Harry, I would take your silence and turn it into the loudest voices torturing me.” Louis bows his head; his voice delicate, no more than a breath, “I wasn’t myself for months and you didn’t even notice.”

For a brief moment, it looks like Harry is going to reach out and touch him, but he collapses into the couch and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “You would disappear for days. I would be frantic,then I would get an alert on my phone and there would be a photo of you, stumbling out of some club. You didn’t see me as a partner anymore, you barely saw me as a person. I was just that guy who cleaned you up and was handy for the occasional fuck. Alistair was all I had, he was the only person I could speak to about you, I had to speak to some-one.”

"You could have spoken to me, instead of pushing me away."

“When? When could I have spoken to you? You were rarely there, and even when you were you were seldom lucid. Alistair got you a place at that rehab in Switzerland and -”

“Fuck! You’re so naive, of course Alistair got me into a rehab in fucking Switlerland. He wanted me gone. He told me that the only reason you were still with me was because you felt responsible for me. He told me that if I truly loved you,I’d leave you.”

Harry makes a frustrated gesture, as if the ability to speak had escaped him and let his arms fall heavily into his lap.

“You and Alistair....There was something going on!”

Harry’s head snaps in Louis' direction. “Why would you think that?”

“I remember someone posted a video of you and Alistair leaving that coffee shop down by Nick’s. Alistair put his hand on your waist, whispered something to you and you both laughed.” Louis pauses and leans towards Harry, “ You know what? I couldn’t remember the last time I saw you laugh.….I suddenly felt very sad.”

He pauses, expecting a reaction. Harry frowns and nervously picks at the hole on the armrest. Silent.

Louis continues, “Then a girl across the street shouts ‘WHERE'S LOUIS?”and Alistair says to you ‘Probably out drinking cheap vodka with his chavvy friends and trashy fake girlfriend. He really looks like a fool?” and you know what you said?”

Harry shrugs, not lifting his head.

“Nothing! You just laughed. You laughed and Alistair laughed...at ME!.”

“How? I didn’t-”

“Yeah, well Simon J shut it down pretty quickly. But he made sure I saw it. God, he was so fucking smug about it. He said “All your sacrifice and fighting for this. Harry doesn’t even respect you as a person nevermind a partner. Alastair is right you are a fool”.”

“I didn’t know we were being filmed.” Harry mutters, still plucking at the upholtersey.

“Why should that matter?,” Louis snarls, almost choking on his exasperation.

Harry looks up, his face flush, his eyes desolate.

At this sight, Louis’ face softens. “That hand, HIS fucking hand on your waist haunts me, fucks with me endlessly." His voice cracks and Harry makes a movement to reach out to him, but stops himself and grips the armrest instead.

Louis continues, "It all started with Alistair. Before,I could take or leave the clubbing, the drugs, the booze. After; it was all I had and it became a necessity!”

“Don't play victim to the circumstances you created. You stabbed me a thousand times and now act like you're the one bleeding. The Sassmaster from Doncaster." Harry sneers, "More like a pixie with a sledgehammer, destroying everything around him.”

Harry leans forward, “Watching you run yourself into the ground with such dedication, was not a pretty sight. The morning after, I'd find you, drenched in sweat and self-pity. It was not even love anymore, more a claim on my fucking soul.”

“We all deal with pain differently. Your pretentious ass, thrived of it. You thought suffering was something profound and significant, necessary for the creative process. Most people hope to avoid it, if they can."

"You think I thrived in this mess?" Harry asks, stunned.

"In a way, yes I do."

"How often did I tell you I'd give it all up, if you'd asked me too? I would have done anything for you. You just had to say the word."

"I tried to reach out to you but you had turned so cold towards me.” Louis murmurs.

“Often we think someone is cold when in fact they’re just sad."

The men look at each other as Harry continues, "Do you know what it was like for me, watching you destroy yourself. Knowing there was nothing I could do, but wait for you, clean you up and put to bed. Most nights you were unconscious, but on the few nights you could talk all I got was abuse. I loved you, yet I resented you.” A sad smile crosses his face. “It’s like I wanted to throw you off a cliff and then run really fast to the bottom and catch you. Louis you were killing yourself, slowly but willfully.

“I drank, because you were too busy finding faults in me, while I was too busy overlooking yours.”

“Mine?”

“You'd deliberately torment me.”

“Torment you?”

“Oh c’mon! All your flirting with other men and then Alistair. Another pawn in your game of driving me to distraction, riling me. You’re addicted to the drama, sweetheart. Addicted to angry sex. The violent bliss. I’m thinking this pixie with a sledgehammer was a good lay.”

“And you didn’t torture me? I was the punchline to all your jokes, in front of your so-called friends. You sometimes spent so long pretending, you couldn’t switch it off. You forgot who you are. You would humiliate me and mock me. All under the guise it was just a bit of banter. A few cheap laughs at my expense, all for the benefit of that posse of parasites you hung out with. Fucking stunt cunts.”

“I’m sorry. Is my public narrative not fancy enough for you? I’ll be sure to ask for an upgrade. Oh I’m sorry, that’s right, I DON’T HAVE A FUCKING CHOICE.”

“Oh c’mon, this was in private when you invited those assholes around. You were unbearable. I know you have been friends with them for years, but you have to see they’re just using you.”

“That’s rich coming from you. Hanging out with the fucking glitterati, the Azoff circle jerk. Tell me, Mr. Styles, are you allowed to get photographed with anyone who isn’t connected to the Azoffs, or are you contractually obligated? What happens if you’re seen with someone not on the Azoffs payroll, do they confiscate your pearls and handbags. I’m not the only person being used.”

“At least Jeff actually-”

“Fucking Jeff. How's that working out for you? Has he kept any of his promises?. From where I'm standing you're still a womanising super dick. Listen honey, the Azoffs will go where the money is and while you’ve female fans who hope to suck your dick, you’re stuck in this closet. He appeases you with the clothes, the makeup, the nail polish, but you're still as much in the closet as me."

"As you? Are you fucking kidding me? Your public image is so aggressively heterosexual that it's almost a parody of itself. That fucking walk and chavvy patter. Remember you had to phone Liam Gallagher to assure him that you weren't taking the piss out of him. You’re lucky he's a decent lad and knows the industry."

"Fuck you, Harry."

"You seem to forget I know the real you. You’ve been doing this so long I'm afraid that person is lost. I know you despise those fuckers you hang out with as much as I do. Yet, you feel bound to provide them with a living because of your long history and their link to your roots. They’re exploiting that and you know it. Jeff says..." Harry stops himself.

“Pray tell. What does fucking Jeff say?”

“What is your problem with Jeff? At least he’s there for me.”

There is a crash, as Louis throws his glass against the wall.

“THAT’S HIS FUCKING JOB. YOU’RE HIS FUCKING CASHCOW!” Louis is on his feet. “DO YOU REALLY THINK HE WOULD GIVE A SHIT IF YOU WEREN'T MAKING HIM A FUCKING FORTUNE?”

“And you do? When?,” Harry retorts, “Hard to catch you between blackouts.”

”IT USED TO BE ME, HARRY. YOU USED TO COME TO ME WITH YOUR PROBLEMS. IT USED TO BE ME WHO YOU CAME TO FOR ADVICE. I LOOKED AFTER YOU. YOU USED TO NEED ME.”

“Need you? You want me to be beholden to you? Is that it?”

“You don’t get it? Do you? It was all I had? When you stopped needing me, you-.”

"Stopping needing you? I never NEEDED you, I WANTED you, there's a difference."

"I'm tired of fighting. For once I want to be fought for.”

“I fought for you, Lou. I fought for us, everyday.” Harry reaches out his hand.

He shakes his head, ignoring the gesture, “I’m exhausted from trying to be stronger than I feel. My mistake was making you a priority, when I was your second choice. Have you, any idea, how much you leaving, destroyed me?. I probably didn’t even cross your mind in the last year."

“No! You didn’t cross my mind. You fucking live there. When we were together, all I thought about was you and all the time we’ve been apart all I have thought of is YOU. ”

“Why didn’t you call, then?”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I thought you deserved better.”

“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. Then you might accept that I’m in love with you and everything about you. I love how just hearing your voice instantly improves my mood, I love how you move when you forget to pretend, I love the way you rub my neck when I’m driving, how you hold my hand when we are watching tv and play with my rings. I love the late night and early mornings where we would talk for hours about nothing, but knowing it was everything. I love how we would always wake up holding hands, even when we didn’t fall asleep that way...even now I would sometimes wake up thinking I can feel your hand in mine.”

Harry bites his lip, his eyes wet, “ I love you to a point of passion it unhinges my soul. It has always been you Lou, just you! No-one else. Always you!”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I abruptly declare.

“Yeah, maybe that was too much baby.”

“No, I mean, I’m really…” I dart from the room.

*****

On my knees, head in the toilet.

Harry has my hair in one hand, gently rubbing my back with his other. Louis is plundering my cabinets, giving us a running commentary on his discoveries.

“We use the same toothpaste.”

“My sister wears this perfume.”

“Harry, she has that Mango face mask you like.”

“Does this work?” I've no idea what he is referring to, being preoccupied with dispatching the contents of my stomach and resisting the urge to tell Harry his persistent back rubbing is making me feel worse.

“How ya feeling, love?” Louis’ interest in my toiletries has waned and I feel more hands on my back. Working in a contradictory circular motion, but more aggressively. My body and the toilet start to move in with sync with their movements. I grip the sides of the toilet in an attempt to achieve equilibrium. My stomach lurches and I involuntarily heave...I've nothing left to give the porcelain basin.

“Please stop, for the love of all that is holy.” I splutter. Both of them immediately stop. Harry keeps hold on my hair.

Their hands remain on my back. I can feel them rearrange themselves and I instinctively know they're holding hands.

The silence that follows, is intermittently broken with a low moist smacking sound, short breaths and when I hear a hushed groan, I have to intervene.

“I know you’re not kissing, while i'm throwing my guts up.”

Their sniggering is magnified in the bowl. I roll my eyes, triggering another wave of nausea.

“You know, some people would pay good money for this sort of action.” Louis states, patting my back.

“Really?” I rest my head on the seat of the toilet and close my eyes, wishing for oblivion.

“Yeah, at a roof party in LA, a guy offered us hundred grand to make out on top of him, not going to tell you what he wanted us to do for triple that.”

“Yeah, spare me and my stomach.” I feel a hand move my fringe out of my eyes.

“Lou, remember that man who offered you fifty grand to fondle your ass?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Hollywood, Hollyweird, am I right?” I mutter.

“This guy was from Croydon.” Harry replies.

I try to laugh, but the effort causes my stomach muscles to contract. “Fucking Ribka.”

"The nectar of the Gods is both sweet and sour.” Harry declares wistfully.

"Sorry," Louis says leaning close to me, "I'm sure that statement didn't help your tummy."

I clumsily pat Louis cheek in response.

Forcing my eyes open, I consider my surroundings. “Is this like some fanfic canon? Girl meets a member of One Direction and they hold her hair as she pukes and they fall in love?”

“You’re thinking of a trope, darling.” Louis corrects me.

“Yeah, trope. If this was a fanfic most readers would think it’s a “Y/N” fic and stop reading after the first page.”

“Probably," Harry agrees, gently cradling Louis' face, who kisses his hand. "But they'd be missing out, I like the ones with a happy ending.”

These are the last words I will remember as the blackness descends.

*****

Carefully I unpeel an eyelid and immediately shut it again as a ruthless beam of light attacks my retina, making my brain bleed.

I try to reclaim sleep, but consciousness was upon me before I could evade it.

With intense effort, I hurl my legs out of bed and sit for a moment while the contents of my skull rearranges itself into its customary position.

Putting on my slippers I drag my carcass down the stairs. Clutching the handrail, every step I take vibrates through my entire body. I feel like I've been beat up and then hit by a train. Why am I so sore? Even my skin hurts.

I collect my post from the mat and flick through it....crap, crap, crap. I throw the post on the hall table and walk towards the living room door. I pause for a moment and listen intently. For all I know they might have left. The last thing I remember is throwing up in the toilet.

For some reason I open the door quickly as if I want to surprise them. The room smells heavily of stagnant alcohol and…. something sweet, like fruit; I need to open a window.

I walk toward the window and that’s when I see them. They are lying on the couch. An entanglement of limbs and clothing. Harry’s shirt is undone and Louis is lying with his head on Harry’s naked chest. One of Harry’s hands is on Louis' hip and the other is one his shoulder, holding him tight. Both are smiling in their slumber.

I open the window, and survey the room. Jugs with renaments of the lethal Ribka, empty glasses, broken glass, Jaffa cakes, marshmallows, Haribo, empty containers of Mango face masks and the remains of my poor abused plant. What did these fuckers do after I went to bed? Lifting a few empty glasses and my plant, I make my way to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

* * * * *

We are standing at my front door, when Harry’s phone rings.

"What's up you tall glass of bitch?"

"Who’s he talking to?" I whisper to Louis.

"Judging by that greeting? His mum?"

Harry is walking about talking on the phone and when he is out of earshot I ask Louis, “A second chance?...I am so happy for you.”

“I’m happy for me!”

We watch Harry, who when he sees us, makes a face and smiles.

“Even after all this time, that smile goes straight to my knees and crot-”

I punch his arm.

“What?”

“This is a family show.”

“Or is it.” we both say in unison. Our laughter attracts Harry's attention,who raises his eyebrows at us.

Grabbing Louis' arm, I pull him towards me and whisper, “What happened last night? The last thing I remember is puking in the toilet. Did you have to put me to bed?”

“On the contrary. Madam got a second wind.” Louis smirks.

“What?”

“Yep. You told us all about how when you enter a room you always work out how you would fight each person there. Just in case things kicked off and you had to battle your way out. Very Interesting. We really should've taken notes.”

“For fuck sake, I’m so sorry. Was I a pure nuisance? Damn you, Ribka” I shake my fist in the air.

Louis chuckles, “Nah! We were all pretty wasted at that point. Plus you announced that a yellow Harry lived in my fridge.”

“What?” I ask, confused. Then it dawns on me, the mysterious photo on Louis' fridge.

Louis, oblivious to my epiphany, continues,” Yeah It was a wild night. You do know you and Harry are now each other’s essential bitch and you planned our whole vow renewal?”

“Shit, really?”

"Yeah, everytime I tried to make a suggestion or vetoed some ridiculous idea, you both threatened to uninvite me.” Louis raises an eyebrow at me in mock indignation.

“Yikes!”

“Yikes! Indeed." Louis playfully pokes me in the ribs and instantly regrets it as he sees the colour drain from my face as a wave of nausea crashes through me. "I'm sorry, love." He says trying to conceal his amusement.

"I will vomit on you." I promise him, grabbing his arm waiting for the world to stop spinning.

"Vow renewal is a great idea though," Louis continues patting my hand. "A new start. Besides it’ll be worth it just to see what this sketch wears.” He nods towards Harry who is crouched down looking at my daffodils whilst still on his call.

“So, you're back together?” I whisper.

“Yes, we are. And it’s all down to you.” Louis grips my hand and squeezes.

“Have you figured out what you are going to do about...you know” I ask in a low voice.

“Yeah we have.” Louis states defiantly, briefly glancing at Harry. Then his demeanor changes, “Don’t you remember?” Louis' voice now thick with mockery.

“No!” I close my eyes in shame.

“Oh, you were full of advice last night. Mostly expressed with the use of show tunes and interpretive dance…” He nudges me, his eyes dancing with delight.

“I’m so sorry.” Embarrassed, I shuffle my feet and turn away.

“Don’t be, it was a great night.” Louis placates me. "In fact, it was an amazing night.We have a plan."

“Good. I’m so glad to hear that. Only the brave.”

"Indeed. It's not what stands in front of you, it's who stands beside you." He looks over at Harry who is trying not to disturb a butterfly that has landed on his coat. "This has been going on for far too long. My baby deserves to be happy”

"So do you," I say, linking him. “Imagine this could all be finally over.”

“That is true. I'm just afraid that I’ve been running for so long, I’ve forgotten how to stand.”

“You have each other...and millions of fans who have been waiting for this. You’ve a fucking army behind you.” Even though I wasn't looking at him, I can feel him smiling.

Harry’s phone call has finished and he looks dejected as the butterfly chooses that moment to depart, also.

“Ready?” Louis asks him.

“I was born ready.” Harry announces.

“Hardly! When you exited the womb, you went back in again and came back out." Louis teases. "He's a bitch for applause!”

Harry looks at me, a look of exaggerated outrage on his face.“See what I have to put up with.”

I laugh and Harry ruffles Louis' hair.

“C’mon! Not the hair!” Louis protests but makes no attempt to stop or move away from him.

Harry looks at me and places his hand on my arm. “Thanks for having us. . . and if you need anything. . .for the article or. . give us a call. This has been…analeptic.”

“Yep...just what I was going to say” Louis makes a baffled face and comically shrugs. Harry looks pointly at him and pulls him into his chest, his hand finding his hair.

“When I think of all that money I spent on a therapist ” Harry asserts.

“I could be doing with some therapy...or maybe a life coach, lets face it I’m a fucking mess”

“You’re amazing! You have no idea.” Harry assures me, placing his free hand on my shoulder.

“Just wish I believed that.”

“Discovering yourself isn’t a race. don’t rush it. Relax. Breathe and enjoy the process...”

“Yeah, I would listen to the man who wrote the song about sucking cock,” Louis states impassively from the folds of Harry's coat.

Harry rolls his eyes and untangles himself from Louis to pull me into a hug.“Thank you,” he whispers in my ear.

“C’mon, c’mon that’s enough!” Louis playfully pushes us apart. “Ok, we have to head, let us know when the article is coming out!”

“Will do. Shit, I forgot to ask you what you look for in a girl or what animal you would be or what superpowers you would like?”

“Damn!” Louis dramatically smacks his forehead with the palm of his hand.

Harry places his arms around Louis' shoulders, from behind and giggles into his neck.

"So are you guys getting a car?" I ask.

"No, it's a nice day, wanna walk baby?" Louis tilts his head towards Harry.

Harry looks up into the sky, " Yes, let's walk, a bit of fresh air to shake off this hangover."

"That Ribka was fucking lethal." Louis shakes his head.

"Walk? Are you fucking crazy? You’ll be mobbed." Distressed at this suggestion.

"Honey, chill." Louis places a calming hand on my arm. "All we need is a beanie and a pair of sunglasses, job done."

"But all those sightings...you were."

"All staged, darling." Harry concedes, "You would be surprised how little people notice when it's not deliberately pointed out to them. We’ll be fine."

Louis pulls on his beanie and sunglasses and with his arms outstretched, asks, “How do I look?”

“With your eyes.” Harry predictably answers.

“I want a divorce.” Louis deadpans.

Harry pushes Louis’ fringe from his forehead and kisses him. Despite his best efforts Louis becomes limp at his touch and takes his hand and kisses it. He doesn't let go of his hand as they turn to wave at me before disappearing up the street.

*****

As I turn to go back into the house, my phone rings.

It’s my sister.

"What's up you tall glass of bitch?"

"What the fuck? Are you drunk?" My sister’s confused voice.

"Kinda"

"Anyway. You know that fella I'm seeing? You'll never guess what he did"

"Probably not." I hear my sister make an irritated noise.

My heart sinks.

"But tell me. I'm listening." I say sitting down on the summer seat. Talking helps.

*****  
In the kitchen, I start to gather up the remains of the night before when my foot slips and I grab at the counter, pulling my poor dilapidated plant down on top of me.

On the floor lies the polaroid from Harry’s coat. It is face down and I see that there is something written on the back of it that I hadn’t noticed last night. I lift it: on the back in crude childlike lettering are the words, “I love you Harold xxx”.

I lift myself up off the floor, my hair and clothes covered in the remains of my poor plant. Using a daisy shaped magnet I attach the photo to my fridge and a thought occurs to me, that sometimes you have to rip something apart, before you can rebuild it.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


End file.
